What Boromir Left Behind
by PippinStrange
Summary: Suppose Boromir not only left behind a father and brother, but his fiance? Allorwyn, a valiant woman of Gondor, must overcome greif. Perhaps a strange hobbit can answer her questions... EPILOGUE UP! FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS TEN YEARS LATER!
1. Chapter 1, Boromir's Return

The yellow rays of sun made patterns down the winding road in Minas Tirith. The white walls and towers etched into the mountainside shined in the morning light, intricate columns and stairs slithered up and down the city of stone—capital of Gondor.

She paid no mind to the sights and sounds, only followed a wide stair that led towards the city gates. She could hear the sound of men laughing and celebrating just around the next bend. Her heart was rejoicing as well, for the fine ruinous city of Osgilioth had been retaken again. The man whom she loved, the fine Boromir son of Denethor, heir to be Steward of Gondor, had led a victorious army against the foul orcs of Mordor. Faramir, Boromir's brother and Captain of Gondor, led the diversion. Without the teamwork of these brothers, there would have been no Osgilioth to be retaken.

She finally found one of them. Faramir spotted her and shouted, "Lady Allorwyn!"

"Captain Faramir," she greeted warmly. He took her hands in his own and squeezed them affectionetly.

"Thanks to you, Osgilioth is safe again," said Allorwyn.

"If it weren't for your silly rogue, it would never have been," responded Faramir kindly. Yet there was a small sadness in his eyes that Allorwyn could not ignore.

"Is something wrong?" she asked softly.

"Nothing for you to be troubled about," Faramir assured.

"Is it the Lord Denethor again?" asked Allorwyn sympathetically.

"How did you know?" asked Faramir, worry flickering his in his face.

"I have eyes," said Allorwyn sorrowfully. "And Boromir tells me many things, even if they are none of my concern. I know the Lord Denethor is hard on you, and may not give you much credit, but as his ward—I know that he loves you."

"I wish I knew that for myself," said Faramir, hiding any bitterness that he may have had. "But why are we discussing such cloudy business on such a glorious day? Boromir has been asking for you! Go and find him."

Allorwyn kissed him on the cheek and hastened through the loud and rejoicing crowds. Finally, she spotted Boromir standing on a pedestle and handing out mugs of ale to the battle weary men.

"Boromir!" she called. Boromir saw her and a smile lept across his face. He jumped down and wrapped her in a choking hug, then kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, " I love you."

"And I love you, my beautiful one." Boromir kissed her again. "And what brings you down to the city gates?"

"To see you, of course," laughed Allorwyn. "And dear Faramir."

"Dear Faramir," repeated Boromir. "Without him it would have been a horrible loss. Yet Father gives him no word of praise, nor shake of hand. It hurts him deeply."

"I know." Allorwyn soothed. She could see he was upset, deep down inside, of something greater and darker than maybe she knew.

"Let us go someplace quiet, where we may talk unnoticed," whispered Boromir, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her up a winding alley. The din of soldiers died away, and they found themselves in a quiet garden.

A stone wall that was over eleven feet tall surrounded the garden. Arched windows one might see in a church or cathedral allowed a view on the Pelennor Fields below, and glinting in the yellow sun, Osgilioth, and the silver river flowing through it.

Boromir took Allorwyn to a bench overlooking a tiny pond with a cascading fountain in its middle. The soft whispers in the baby trees surrounding them made that the only noise to be heard. Finally, Allorwyn spoke, "Boromir? What is wrong? Why are you so quiet?"

Boromir took a shaky breath, his face quivering with some emotion that Allorwyn couldn't read. Boromir answered her chokingly, "Allorwyn, my Father is…" another skaky breath. His hands trembled and twitched, like a child picking up a dangerous weapon that it shouldn't touch.

"Allorwyn, my Father is…that is, what I am to do…I mean, dear Allorwyn, I am leaving."

Allorwyn gasped. "Where is it you are going?"

"Rivendell."

"But why?" asked Allorwyn, more calmly this time. "What has your Father to say about this?"

"The one…" Boromir sucked in his breath as if in pain. "The One Ring has been found, Allorwyn, and is held in Rivendell."

"The…Ring? The Ring of Sauron?" Allorwyn couldn't hide the utter surprise and shock she felt. She took his hand. "What does that have to do with you? Why must you go to the place where a great evil abides—even in a place of the elves?"

"F-father," said Boromir simply.

"He has commanded you to go," finished Allorwyn sadly. "Then you must. Why has he asked this of you?"

"I am…to bring the ring back to Gondor," explained Boromir. "To use it against Sauron. If we have his ultimate weapon, he shall crumble, and we can put it away…if he ever should arise again, we just defeat him again."

"I…I see…" Allorwyn sighed. "Although I do not like this new idea of having a band of gold that was once on the fingers of the Dark Lord. How could such a small trinket that caused so much killing and suffering do any good for us? I would guess it would only to good for Sauron, and be an evil for us."

"My Father does not see it that way," attempted Boromir. "He really is a good man, who would only do what is best for his people. We must trust his judgment. Either way, I am to go within a week, and I must not refuse."

"Of course, of course," agreed Allorwyn hesitantly. "You will return soon, and that is all I care of."

"I do not want to leave!" Boromir suddenly burst forth angrily. "He asks too much of me! Faramir offered to go, but he refused it!"

"Boromir," Allorwyn began softly, laying her head on his shoulder. "I know you are upset. You need rest. Do you want to discuss this now?"

Boromir's angry expression softened, but he only stood and held out a hand to her. "Allorwyn, do you love me?"

"I love you with all my heart," she said, taking his hand and standing. "No matter what happens."

"I do not want to leave you, even for a week or two, to go to this Elf City. I want to stay with you."

"What of Faramir's offer?" asked Allorwyn. "Did the Lord Denethor flatly refuse it…as a command?"

"Yes," said Boromir, his grey eyes filling with sadness. "His words were, 'A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his qualities! I think not! I trust this mission only to your brother'."

"That is a cruel thing to say!" gasped Allorwyn. "Oh, dear Faramir. Will his Father ever show his love?"

"I doubt he has any," Boromir said bitterly. "I don't see how he could. Faramir is wounded in his heart, and Father spoils me with praise and responsibilities that I do not want, and he never relents on his constant batter on my poor brother…" Boromir had began to talk rapidly, each syllable spat out as if it tasted foul. With each word his voice grew rougher and angrier.

"Shhhhhh," soothed Allorwyn, putting a finger to his lips. Boromir's frightening anger dissolved to a blank, exhausted sag of a weary soldier. In comeplete silence, he buried his face in her cloak and trembled. She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and rocked him back and forth.

"Things will be alright," she consoled. "One day Lord Denethor and Faramir will have everything worked out. You will not have the pressure upon you to be the perfect son. This will not be forever."

"I am only comforted by that I have your love," said Boromir finally, pulling away. "I am very weary, and…"

"You need rest," finished Allorwyn, leading him out of the garden and up the glimmering halls.


	2. Chapter 2, the Dream

A soft stirring…Allorwyn awoke to find herself lying in bed, the bedclothes tangled around her. A slightly wet down pillow hinted that she sweat during the night as if in a struggle. She remembered why everything was in such disarray…a horrible dream in the night…

_I called, but no sound came from my mouth. I pushed through the water and found I could not swim. I was drowning. I saw a boat, drifting my way, but still panic held me down. A disgusting, black hoard of slimy orcs trailed behind the boat, following it, crying and laughing with glee. Suddenly, the water opened, and they were swallowed in a churning whirlpool. A white sword, similar to that of Boromir's sword, floated in mid air. It swiped and cut and invisible enemy…then it dived, just like a dolphin, into the whirlpool, chasing the golbins away from the boat._

_A kind sword it must be, to save me from those goblins! But no, it was not me it was protecting, but what was it the boat! It now drifted towards me; I grabbed its side and hoisted myself out of the river. I looked inside the beautifully carved craft and stared inside. _

_Boromir! His face was pale, his eyes closed. In his hands he held the same sword that had dived into the waves after the orcs. _

_He was dead. His skin was a shade of grey and blue. His hands were cold. He was dead. He was dead. _

_A chorus of orcish voices chortled from a misty shore. _

_He is dead! He is dead!_

_He is not dead, I cried, I am dreaming. This is a nightmare. Nothing more. Do stop this singing._

_They did not stop! He is dead, he is dead. The ghastly voices murmured over and over again, like an unearthly chant. He is dead, he is dead._

_He will not die, he will not. I am dreaming. A sword does not simply float over water and destroy orcs! _

_You are not dreaming! The orcs sang a new song, cackling behind a wall of fog. I lost hold of the boat…I was falling…_

_Into the murky water I collasped, feeling the roar in my ears, I grasped for the boat…Boromir! My Boromir! He was drifting away in the boat! I must catch it again! _

_The dull roar of the rushing water subsided. It was a small echo, vibrating away from me, fading into a small rustling…until it dissolved to a soft stirring, like the sound of one caught in many blankets, trying to get away…_

Allorwyn untangled herself and slipped out of the bed. She shook the memories of the dream away, she let herself relax, and began to feel even slightly cheerful. The sun was shining, Boromir was home, and they were going to be together all day…just the two of them, together at last!

Allorwyn dressed in a flowing white gown, shaking away the memories of the frightening dream with each rustle of lace and silk. Around her middle she put a simple, gold belt. It's beaded ends tied together and trailed down the front of her skirt to its fullest length. The sleeves bellowed and hung all the way to the floor. She took the two strands of hair that hung in front of her face and tied it back, the rest of her chesnut hair flowing down to her waiste.

A knock sounded at her door. Allorwyn bade in a clear voice, "Enter."

Boromir's short, shaggy mane appeared first, then his handsome face around the edge of the door.

"Allorwyn? Are you up yet?"

"Up and ready for a good morning kiss!" Allorwyn appeared out of her dressing room, laughing lightly and inclining her cheek towards him. He gave it a peck and held out his hand towards her. "Come, Allorwyn. I've arranged for us to spend the day in Osgilioth, we are to have a picnic, then we'll go for a gallop across Pellanor."


	3. Chapter 3, Proposals and Tempers

The cold, greyish-green stones of Osgilioth seemed almost threatening, luring them into its ruins of crumbling pillars and cracked walls. But Allorwyn hardly noticed, for the sun peeked through a wisp of raincloud and lighted the ruinous.

A few soldiers wandered here and there, keeping guard, but also attempting to stay out of Boromir's way. He threatened them teasingly that if anyone should disturb their picnic, unless in uttermost need, they would be severly punished. The men in armor gathered in little clusters, laughing quietly and joking of their Captain Boromir being so helplessly in love.

Allorwyn set a basket of food down on a stone block and waited for Boromir to say something. His carefree attitude had mysteriously melted, and he paced to and fro in front of her as if she did not exist. Allorwyn was not daunted by his sudden mood change, only asked laughingly, "Dear Boromir! Whatever is wrong with you? We are supposed to be having a romantic picnic!"

Suddenly Boromir ran to her and dropped to his knees. He took both her hands in his and kissed them, murmuring, "Allorwyn, Allorwyn…did you mean what you said when you told me you loved me?"

"I do not tell someone I love them idly," Allorwyn responded seriously. "You have my heart."

"Then…" began Boromir hesitently, "You would gladly become my wife?"

"If you would only hasten and ask me, I have been waiting for months," Allorwyn let the sarcasm out and looked down at him expectantly. "Would _you _gladly become my husband?"

"Nothing more would make me happier," Boromir smiled, his eyes squinting with the widest of smiles he had ever accomplished.

"Then ask me," Allorwyn whispered, leaning towards him.

"Will you marry me?" he squeezed her hands.

"Yes, of course I shall," cried Allorwyn happily. Boromir pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms, kissing her passionetly.

A couple of nearby soldiers, spying rudely, began to cheer loudly. "Long live Boromir, and his new wife, the Lady Allorwyn!"

The next week was filled only with happiness, celebration, and romance. Boromir and Allorwyn spent every possible minute together, a midst the chaos of parties thrown in honor of their betrothal.

One night, they sat together alone at an inn table, discussing details for their wedding.

"When shall it be?" murmured Boromir, dipping a quill in a bottle of ink and dabbing the leaves of parchment thoughtfully. "In the spring?"

"When shall you return from Rivendell?" asked Allorwyn.

Boromir glanced up and said chidingly, "Allorwyn, you know I don't know the answer to that question. It could be months."

Allorwyn sighed. "So it could be the spring after you return?"

"The spring after I return," repeated Boromir, scratching at the paper, writing in the Common Tongue.

Allorwyn held out a simple white flower. "How about these flowers from Ithilian to wear in my hair?"

"It's beautiful," agreed Boromir happily. "You look beautiful in white." He suddenly became distracted by what he was writing in his notes.

"Thank-you," replied Allorwyn, her eyes glinting mischeiviously. "What flowers shall we pick for _your _hair?"

Boromir absentmindedly responded, still writing on the papers, "Uh, yes, yes…very good. The flowers from Ithilian. Got that…"

Allorwyn stuck the flower behind his ear, teasing, "You look dashing, Boromir son of Denethor!"

He grinned and removed the flower, tossing it to her playfully. "Enough of that," he said in mock scolding. "We do have a wedding to plan!"

A guard of Denethor came to the door of the inn, announcing, "My Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, requests Lord Boromir and Lady Allorwyn in the throne room."

Boromir and Allorwyn went to the peak of the city and entered the great hall. The large, white throne standing at the top of many marble steps stood empty…below it, in an iron black throne at it's foot, sat the Lord Denethor.

"Come in, my children," he said pleasantly. "You are to dine with me tonight." Allorwyn and Boromir smiled and bowed before him, then all three went to a table to their right ladened with food.

"Where is Faramir?" asked Allorwyn, a slight hinting in her voice, her right eyebrow raised pointedly.

"He has other duties," said Denethor.

"I am sure he is hungry, perhaps we should have him in," pressed Allorwyn. Boromir gave her foot a gentle kick under the table, as if to warn, "do not push your luck".

Denethor sighed, "Very well!" he covered up his obvious disgust by teasing her laughingly, "Is my presence not enough to make you happy?"

"Of course it is," replied Allorwyn, patting his arm.

Soon, Faramir joined them and they chatted endlessly of goings on in Minas Tirith. Denethor asked them to explain their plans for the wedding, and happily they complied.

Boromir and Faramir had business to discuss of the guarding in Osgilioth, so they left Allorwyn and Denethor alone.

"Now," said Denethor, pushing back from the table. "As my royal ward, I can command you to do whatever I want."

Allorwyn smiled at him, "If it so pleases you, my lord."

"In that case," Denethor stood and seated himself in the iron throne. "You shall sing me a song."

"You have heard all the songs I know, my lord!" exclaimed Allorwyn. "Every last one of them."

"Sing an old one," insisted Denethor. "Come come, Allorwyn! You are to be my daughter-in-law! I'd like to hear you sing."

"Very well, very well." Allorwyn shook her head at him and cleared her throat. When she sang, it seem soft like a breeze, loud like rain against armor, and clear like the River Anduin.

_"The hooves shall pound over the hill, thundering! Thundering!_

_The sweet sounds of grass far ahead, whispering! Whispering!_

_Riders come, trumpets rejoice,_

_Behold the soldiers, say with one voice…_

_Our white city! Tower of the Guard! The tower peak…_

_Walls of Stone, Tree of Snow, with all of them speak…_

_Come to Minas Tirith, Mighty Place of Men,_

_The king and crowds are there celebrating…celebrating…"_

"I do wish there would be a king again," mused Allorwyn to herself. "The song depicts a finer place than we dwell, I think."

Denethor suddenly stood, anger glowing in his eyes. "We need no king to have a great city! You ungrateful, rude, cruel girl…"

"Oh! My…My Lord, I'm sorry…"

"Leave me!" Denethor took a threatening step towards her. "Leave me now! I don't ever want to see you again. In fact, I don't want you marrying my own son!"

"Very well, my Lord," Allorwyn couldn't hide the shock and hurt she felt. She felt her heart was slowly breaking! For years he had been like a father to her—then to suddenly turn like an animal just at the mention of a king…! Fighting tears, she began to apologise again. "I am sorry. You have taken very good care of Gondor. You are right, we need no king when we have a Steward…"

"Go!" thundered Denethor. "Get out! I do not want your company or your king-worshipper-songs!"

Allorwyn fled.


	4. Chapter 4, Denethor

Boromir knocked quietly on the door, pressing his ear against the wood to hear a response.

"Go away, I don't want to see anyone."

Boromir hung his head and his breath came in short sighs. Anytime Allorwyn's voice ever sounded so choked and tearful, he felt his heart wrenching in two.

"Allorwyn!" he called softly. "It's me, Boromir…allow me insdie."

"I…don't…want…to…see…anyone!" Allorwyn let out a sob.

Boromir tried the latch. He found it unlocked and slipped inside. He felt as if his heart was being crushed when he saw Allorwyn laying facedown on her bed, weeping into the blankets, curled up like one having a nightmare.

"Allorwyn, Allorwyn…" he said soothingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pulled her into his arms held her. She seemed so small, shaking in his arms like a young child.

She cried for a while longer, her face buried in his shoulder. "Denethor…" she began, taking a deep breath. "He was…like an animal…turning against his master…"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you so," attempted Boromir.

Allorwyn sat back and looked him in the eyes. "Boromir, he meant every word he said!"

"No, I'm sure he didn't," protested Boromir.

"But he did," stated Allorwyn flatly. "He is a different man than we once knew, Boromir. In your heart, you think your Father could never do such a thing. Yet you _know _it to be so."

Boromir could not meet her gaze.

"He does not want the King of Gondor to return, wherever he may be," explained Allorwyn, wiping fresh tears off her cheek. "He treats Faramir like dirt on an orc trail!"

Boromir let a few tears of his own slip down his face.

"He was not always this way," said Allorwyn quietly. "Something happened to him."

"And what could it be?" Boromir asked despairingly. "This is too big for us! If he has changed so, what can we do to save him? Why…?"

Allorwyn leaned into his arms. She cried softly, "He wishes we do not marry."

Boromir held her tightly and whispered, "The father I once knew would never wish that for his son!"

They held eachother for a long while, and cried far into the evening. It was at dawn…when Allorwyn met Boromir in the courtyard in the gray light…that he was to depart for Rivendell.


	5. Chapter 5, Departure and Death

Allorwyn shivered in the breeze blowing over Osgilioth, where she followed Boromir so that she may be with him as long as possible before he passed unto the opposite end of the world.

Boromir swept her into his arms and kissed her over and over. "I will return as soon as the errand permits me," he told her. "Goodbye, my dearest."

"Goodbye," Allorwyn felt a few tears slip past her guard. "I love you!"

"And I love you," Boromir put a hand on her cheek and kissed her forehead. "You are so beautiful!"

"And you are so handsome!" Allorwyn gave a forced chuckle. "Farewell…my dear Boromir…"

Boromir gave her one last kiss before he forced himself to mount his horse. He rode towards the gate, before halting to have a private word with Faramir. He gave him a brotherly smile and said, "Remember today, little brother!" with one last look at Allorwyn, he rode away to the rising sun…the parting clouds…to the city of the elves…and to his doom.

_Seven Months Later_

Cold rain fell. The Cobblestone streets were empty save the puddles and soaked rocks. The occupants of the city were hidden behind doors, warm and cozy, keeping out of the weather. Winter was ending, snow had melted, but the chilled spring rains attacked the city with full force.

Allorwyn sat at her window, watching the dreary wetness sliding down the glass like tears. It was at times like these she missed Boromir the most. After almost a year, she had gotten used to the stillness and silence…but she still missed him.

She missed Denethor as well. He used to be like a Father to her, and she had not seen him since the day he ordered her away in his anger. He had never sent for her again.

Allorwyn was startled out of her thoughts by a knock on the door. She stood and opened the door, seeing a wet soddened Faramir standing in the rain.

"Why, Faramir," she said. "Come in! Are there news of Boromir?"

Silence.

Allorwyn peered into Faramir's cold, weakened gaze. His eyes were red, his face flushed, and he trembled all over.

"Faramir," said Allorwyn quietly, "What is wrong?"

"A m-mesenger," choked Faramir, "Came today…from Rivendell."

"I see," said Allorwyn.

"And…a horn…washed upon the banks of the Anduin…this morning…"

"A horn?" Allorwyn said blankly. "You don't mean…Boromir's horn?"

"I do," Faramir shuddered, his eyes downcast, tears pouring freely down his face. "It was Boromir's horn."

Allorwyn shook herself. Nothing could be wrong…Faramir was only cold and tired… "And what of the messenger from Rivendell?"

"M'lady…" Faramir finally met her eyes. "A messanger came. Not from Rivendell, but Lothlorien. They came to tell us…Boromir has…fallen."

"Faramir," gasped Allorwyn. "This can't be true! You know this can't be true!"

"Allorwyn…" started Faramir.

"No…" Allorwyn sobbed, falling into Faramir's arms. He held her close and they both cried for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6, the Hobbit

There was nothing. Only a gray mist. Allorwyn felt tormented inside, not knowing how he died or when. She had tried to go to Denethor, to ask him what happened, but he would not see her. She went to his very door, banging on it, begging him to let her in. She cried and pounded for a long while, before Denethor sent guards to escort her back to her home. She went home weary and hopeless.

War had come. Osgilioth was being attacked, Faramir's tiny band of men trying to fight back. Everywhere Allorwyn looked, she saw greif and fright. The very same she felt herself. She was numb to all that happened, save one day, when two peculier visitors came to Minas Tirith.

It was sunny, surprisingly, despite the strange horde of black clouds movings towards them. A tiny white speck moved with fantastic speed across the fields to the great gate. Allorwyn watched it with sullen interest as the white speck turned into a mighty horse and was let inside the city.

With a sigh, Allorwyn left her house and went into the street. Perhaps this odd newcomer knew something of Boromir. In her mind, she had almost convinced herself he wasn't dead, and that there was some mistake. But the pain in her heart told her it wasn't so.

She was startled by the sound of galloping hooves. The great white horse flew past her and continued up the spiral of the city.

"They are heading for the palace!" she thought. Without a moment's hesitation, she followed up the winding roads to the palace.

Allorwyn suddenly felt the sensation she should be hidden. She jumped into a thin alleyway and spied on the great horse. It slowed to a stop for a moment, and she saw that a tiny child was in the arms of the rider.

Who was the rider? She saw long, white robes and an intricate staff. Behind a bushy beard and long eyebrows, she saw a grim mouth and blue eyes.

"Mithrandir!" she whispered to herself. Of course, it made sense. It was the great wizard, Gandalf the Great, wearing white instead of gray. In their language, he was called Mithrandir.

"Mithrandir!" she shouted, running up the alley. "Mithrandir, wait!"

He did not hear her. The whole realization to Allorwyn had only taken a few seconds, but to her it seemed like hours. To Mithrandir, he had merely paused his horse to decide which passage to take. Then, not hearing a frantic yell calling his name, he spurred the mighty horse on and moved with speed through the city.

Allorwyn followed as fast as she could. Arriving at the peak of the city, breathless and faint, she stumbled up one last flight of steps and look about the empty courtyard. "He has to be here," thought Allorwyn. "He was familier here. As far as we knew, he was in Rivendell as well! He might know where Boromir is!" She ran to the iron doors of the palace room, the great hall where she had once spent many hours of hapiness. She began to open the door when the guard barred her way.

"Where are you going, my lady?" he asked sullenly.

"I must see Mithrandir," explained Allorwyn hastily. "You must let me inside!"

"Under order of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, we cannot let any maidens inside."

"He has said that only to keep me away," Allorwyn sputtered in anger.

"I have my orders, my lady."

Allorwyn smiled softly. "It's not your fault." She turned and went back down into the roads. She swore to herself…she would find Mithrandir. She had to.

The next day, Allorwyn awoke with a sudden thought. Why not sneak inside the palace?

She rushed to the wall and ripped her black cloak for mourning hanging there. She pulled it around her shoulders and pulled the hood up. Perfect…the shadows were too great for anyone to see her face.

Allorwyn borrowed a horse from the stables and raced at breakneck speed towards the halls. She dismounted at the bottom of the last flight of stairs and went up casually. Going around the front, she tried a doorway from the side.

It was about twelve in the afternoon…Denethor would be ordering his servents to bring him some lunch. Allorwyn took the back way and went into the kitchen, joining another cloaked servent and picking up a tray of food. She carefully followed the other servant into the great throne room.

Denethor sat at a table, awaiting his food. The child Allorwyn had seen before, the one riding with Mithrandir, stood next to him, looking uncomfortable.

Allorwyn kept her face downward when she placed the tray on the table. Denethor waved them away and started talking to the child.

"Do you sing?" he asked the young boy.

"Yes…well…good enough for my own people…" responded the boy.

Allorwyn was shocked. His voice was deeper than a mere boy…of course, it wasn't very deep, but deep enough for her to know he was not as young as she thought. As she backed away respectively from Denethor, she studied his face. Yes…it was much too mature for a little boy. He looked in his twenties or so.

"How odd," she thought, "That he be as short as a tiny child of five years, but be old enough to by even my age!"

"Sing something!" Denethor broke Allorwyn's thoughts.

The halfling took a shaky breath and began to sing. His voice was clear and rich, and his song was quiet and trembling. Allorwyn stood nearby with the other servant, observing everything from a safe distance. She was instantly surprised when silent tears began to run down the Halfling's face. When the sad song came to an end, he looked down at the floor and wept.

It made Allorwyn's heart wrench to watch this. Denethor stayed looking ahead, with a stony face and unmerciful glare. The Halfling stood there, awaiting some command. Finally, Denethor barked, "Leave now. Go find your wizard."

The Halfling trudged wearily through the doors. Allorwyn calmy stole away, as quietly as a shadow. She went through the gates and saw the tiny figure going down the steps. She followed discreetly and finally found a place where she could talk to him, alone…

Without hesitation, she grabbed the Halfling roughly by the shoulders and dragged him into an empty house. He yelped with surprise and struggled, but she clung to him. She pushed him against a wall and held him gently but firmly.

"Tell me, young child…" she began shakily.

"I'm not a child, I'm a Hobbit!" gasped the Hobbit.

"Tell me something, Hobbit," Allorwyn began again without a blink. "What are you doing with Mithrandir? Do you know where I can find him?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" said the Hobbit, very distraught. "Who's Mithrandir?"

Allorwyn knelt in front of him so she was face to face. "Mithrandir, the wizard you arrived with."

"Gandalf?" said the Hobbit blankly. "I suppose he is at the inn we were staying at. Or with Faramir."

"You know Faramir?" gasped Allorwyn.

"Um," the Hobbit squirmed in her grasp. "I know OF him."

Allorwyn took a deep breath. "Do you know…his brother?"

The Hobbit suddenly looked pained. He looked at the floor and didn't respond.

"You do!" Allorwyn said almost angrily. "You know of his brother, Boromir! You must tell me all you know!"

"I know nothing," the Hobbit lied.

"You know even more about Boromir than the wizard Mithrandir does," accused Allorwyn. "I can see it in your eyes!"

"What is Boromir to you?" asked Hobbit.

Allorwyn felt a tear slip down her face. "He is going to be my husband."

The Hobbit looked comepletely shocked. His eyes grew wide and his chin dropped. "Boromir was going to be married?"

"Is!" corrected Allorwyn. "Is! He IS going to be married. To me."

The Hobbit's eyes filled with a horrible sadness. He looked sympathetic as he reached up and put a tiny hand against her cheek, brushing away her tear.

"I'm sorry!" he said. A tear of his own trailed down his face. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"Don't say that," snapped Allorwyn, letting go of him. "He isn't dead, like the rumors say. I know it is not true!"

"But it is true," protested the Hobbit. "I…I was there…"

Allorwyn dropped to her knees again. "You…you swear it?"

"I saw it all."

Allorwyn looked away and let out a choked sob. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned towards the Hobbit again.

"Hobbit…" she started. "M…mister Hobbit…what's your name?"

"Pippin, Pippin Took. From the Shire."

"Pippin Took from the Shire," repeated Allorwyn, her voice trembling and every emotion screaming to be let out. "You…I mean, will you…tell me how it all happened?"

"Yes," Pippin said strongly. "If it would be of any help."

"You would put a weary, troubled heart to rest…"

"Then of course I'll tell you."

"Well, ma'am," began Pippin, taking a deep breath for the long story ahead. "We went to Rivendell, an elf city, you know…my cousins and I. My cousin's being my best friend Merry and my favorite cousin Frodo—who is twice removed on his mothers side, or something like that—an Frodo's gardener, Sam Gamgee.

"Anyways, we went to this elf city, see, because my cousin Frodo had a ring. A very important ring, I gathered. It belonged to some shadow in Mordor, that's about all I knew. So it be, Frodo has to destroy it in the lava of a mountain of doom…or something…I'm sorry, I don't know much about it."

"That's allright," said Allorwyn. "But isn't the Ring usable as a weapon? Boromir said…"

"Men don't understand these things," said Pippin matter-of-factly. "The ring is NOT usable as a weapon. Although, us Hobbit's aren't affected by it nearly as easily as men. You see, it eats anyone who tries to use it."

"Eats?"

"I mean, consumes, you see. It consumes the soul of whomever has it. Who ever would try to use it as a weapon would only become another Dark Lord. At least, that's what I gathered from information. Boromir had a hard time undertsanding, but he did accept the truth.

"Furthermore, we went on a very long journey. We lost Gandalf in Moria, or so we thought. We were all very upset about it. We were trailed by monsters and orcs and horrible things in water…we were in great danger, but the big folk always protected us.

"Frodo had to take the ring to the doomed mountain, as I said before, so we were going with him to…you know, help him out. But after Lothlorien, a big elvish patch of woods, you know, we went down river.

"We were camping for the evening, when…" Pippin paused and looked down. "Boromir died."

"Just like that?" Allorwyn asked unbeleivingly. "How did die, Pippin? I want to know."

"We were attacked by big orcs from a bad wizard called Saruman," explained Pippin quietly. "Merry and I were alone, and afraid…and we decided to distract the orcs from Frodo. So he escaped. But we were cornered…and, um…Boromir came to protect us."

"So he died." Finished Allorwyn sadly. "Tell me…how did he die?"

Pippin began to get very emotional. He inhaled slowly and said in a choked voice, "Boromir was a sheild in front of us, killing any that tried to hurt us. The leader of the orcs had a bow and arrow, and he…shot him."

"Oh!" Allorwyn hid her face with her hands. "My dear, dear Boromir."

"But," continued Pippin, "He got up again. He continued to fight. Then, he was shot again."

Allorwyn rocked herself from side to side. "Boromir…"

"He fell to his knees." Pippin stared ahead as if seeing the scene replayed against the far wall. "But he rose again, and sliced several more orcs apart. Then, uh, third arrow came. He was peirced three times before he finally fell."

"Dead."

"He was still alive when Merry and I were captured, but Aragorn was there."

"Aragorn?" Allorwyn lifted her red, swollen eyes to study the hobbit. "Who is that?"

"Just, just a ranger," said Pippin quickly. "He spoke to Boromir before he died."

"What…what did Boromir say?"

"I know not much about that," Pippin confessed. "It was something very special. You see, Boromir and Aragorn didn't get along very well, but in the end…Boromir asked for forgiveness, and Aragorn said yes, of course."

Silence.

"Boromir…died bravely, m'lady." Pippin stood. "He was one of our bestest friends. He died saving us. So he should be remembered with honor."

Allorwyn looked out the window. The city was aflame with the fire of war, the end was near…the end of one thing, the beginning of another. Allorwyn didn't know what, but in her heart, she felt…like a tiny flower blooming in ashes. A small, distant sunray peirced the black clouds of battle in the sky, making a weak smile flit across Allowryn's face. "Boromir will be remembered with honor, Master Pippin," she said. "He will be."


	7. Author's Note

**Scissor-hero:**

**I am not sure what you meant by 'please continue'—for this story, or the rest of my writing? If the first, I'm sorry to say the story is Complete. Though, if you would like me to add an epilogue, I would be pleased to do so. Yes, in fact, I did write the song that Allorwyn sang. I hope you liked it.**

**Thank-you for reading and reviewing!**

**the Pip**


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue… What happened to Allorwyn?

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**Here is the last clip from her journal, which she wrote all to her firstborn daughter.

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_I have just been flipping back the pages in my diary, and found many a memory that I longer to forget, yet I longed to remember. They spoke of Boromir, my first, and lost, love. How long ago it all seems. I was so young._

_Now, I might add, it has been ten years. The first five, long winters, were the hardest times I ever endured. I was alone, in the dark, with no one._

_Something alighted my world—Faramir married a blossom from Rohan, the kind Lady Eowyn. I was blessed to have a sister, finally, one who drew me from my shell, and gave me that want to love again, and to be loved again._

_I opened my heart, and started a fresh. I moved into a new cottage, one not so ornate, and other than Faramir and his wife, did not associate much with the higher class, and began a whole new set of friends in a group of humble abodes, a few inns, and some stables. _

_I am happy to say that I am now happily married. Surprised, aren't you, my dearest daughter? How could I ever overcome the love I had for Boromir? _

_Well, dearest, I will never stop loving him, he was wonderful. My love has someone new now, someone I love much more, someone I've given my heart. _

_You know your father, of course, dear one. But I'll save that for later._

_I began to work. I found I loved working with my own hands, and became strong, and found I had a love for working in the stables. I polished leather, I brushed horses, I fixed wagons, I found such joy in my work. It was even hard for me to believe that I had once been a Ward of the Steward, dressed all in white, and gaily running to and fro in the tower and being on top of Middle Earth. _

_Many a cute stable lad caught my eye, or rather, wished they did, but none suited me. I decided to take a journey—I'd never been traveling, for real, before in my lifetime, Minas Tirith had been my home—my prison. _

_A new shipment of horses had been bred, in Rohan, particularly for Minas Tirith, and our growing population. I led the charge, bringing my stable boys, the financiers, and groomsmen, and we journeyed to Rohan to pick up and buy the herd of fabulous steeds. _

_It was then that I had the pleasure of meeting Eomer, King of Rohan. He saw my restlessness, and my love for the beasts, and bid me to stay in Rohan and take charge of the royal stables. It only grieved me a bit to leave Minas Tirith, but they were in the fine hands of King Elessar, and of Steward Faramir, and nothing there was left for me._

_I took up the offer quickly, and found myself happier than ever before. It was then that I met your father, dear one. He was a Guard of the House, and insignificant in his own way, but strong and kind. I found him amazing—his manner, his kindness, his boldness, I found myself in love with him. His name is Darcen, (the c, my dear one, is pronounced with an S, though you never fall him anything but Father). _

_We were married after two years or so, that being four years after Boromir's death, and now my love is for Darcen, my old childhood memories for Boromir. _

_Now four more years have passed, and have been the happiest I've ever encountered, filled with the happiness of marriage that I never experienced. _

_And then I had you, my precious one, and you are having your fourth birthday in five months. Upon your tenth, I decided, I would bestow my journal to you, and you may read my sorrows and joys, and you might learn something from it all. I'll leave that up to you._

_Until then, I will continue to write in this, I have now concluded how Darcen and I met, and in further places, tell you more stories. _

_I remain, forever,_

_Your Mother

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**Well, how'd ya'll like it? Does this explain a few things? I paired with an OC in the end because I thought that an Eomer/Allorwyn would have been an over-used epilogue pairing. **


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